Forever Past
by Lumeii
Summary: The thing about her that had fascinated him most was how she knew no fear, more specifically, of how she did not fear him. "You'll stay with me forever right? Tom, we're best friends. We're orphans. Where could I go?" There's always a girl involved. Even in the story of Tom Riddle.


**Forever Past- Twoshot**

**There's always a girl involved. even in the story of Tom Riddle.**

**Something my brain threw up late at night- features a softer more human Tom**

* * *

><p>The thing about her that had fascinated him most was how she knew no fear, more specifically, of how she did not fear him. She had always, <em>always<em>, met his gaze with an unwavering emerald stare, even when his face became twisted, his eyes vermillion, his hands bloodied with sins. She did not flinch when he taunted her, nor when he bullied her. She did not recoil when he offered to be allies ("friends!" She said). She did not tense when he kissed her like there was no tomorrow, nor when he clasped her like she would be gone the moment they separated. Even at the end, when green light illuminated their familiar faces she did not balk.

It was so fitting that at his end, the same eyes would be shining at him.

* * *

><p>They met at the orphanage. She was another snotty faced brat he was forced to room with. In fact, she was more snotty than the usual useless beings; she was crying her eyes out, tears and mucus dripping over a ruddy, blotchy face. He wondered how long it would take to get rid of this one… two days perhaps?<p>

"Stop crying ugly. You're parents aren't coming back."

He was taken aback by a brilliant glare.

Over the course of two weeks, he used every trick he had. He teased her, taunted her, and insulted her. He poked her, hit her, and even kicked her once. He dirtied her dresses, ripped her sheets, stole her possessions (which were pretty and nice). He tormented her mercilessly because there was no way he was sharing his room. There was no way he would start the rumors again. He even unleashed his snake on her.

She retaliated stubbornly. She ignored his scornful comments, steeled up against his bullying, and fought back. She tore his sheets and splattered mud on his clothes and messed up his side of the room. She had the strongest willpower he had seen in his 8 years of age and refused to bend to his abuse. This frustrated him because, even at a young age, there was no one, _no one_, he couldn't scare away. What was more frustrating, and also rather frightening, was when she started freaking cuddling his snake. Cuddling! And stroking!

"You're beautiful" he heard her giggle.

And his snake had let her tickle him. He didn't even hiss, or even better yet bite. So much for loyalty.

It reached the point where he had to pull out his trump card and possibly start the rumors again, but at this point he just wanted her gone. With a small grunt and numb concentration, all the books flew off his shelf and hurtled themselves at the small figure. They should've crushed her, breaking her fragile bones under their weight. They should have injured her, crippled her so that she would be sent away and gone for good. They should've at least scared her, but they didn't. Every single one of his 17 (treasured) books stopped. In midair. _Stopped in midair. _And breezed back to the shelf. A few smacked him on the way back.

Shock

_You. You're like me. You can do what I do._

She smiled.

Later, he would wonder if it was actually a smirk.

* * *

><p>Everything changed after that. As a young child, he was still open minded, and demanded she explain everything. She glared at him, rolled over in her bed, and staunchly refused. He was desperate. He ordered her, he nagged her, he even begged her at one point. She refused. She refused. She refused. She told him to shut up and why should she tell him he was a meanie butt.<p>

This was when he learned mental torture was more effective than physical torture.

* * *

><p>One eventful day, he stuffed all his pride away and knelt down on the grubby threadbare carpet.<p>

_I'm sorry. For everything._

She cocked her head. "What was that? Are you apologizing?" She smiled. "I didn't hear you!"

He glared, and mumbled something, but her triumphant grin told him she heard it all.

He wanted to run away with shame. He never apologized. Never. And he would never apologize again.

In the end it was worth it, he thought.

She told him everything. She told him about the first few years of her life, about a mother who had doted on her, and a cold father who spoiled her terribly. She described the self shelving books (you would like them) and the talking portraits and floo. She spoke about unicorns and centaurs and quidditch and Hogwarts and _Magic_.

_Its magic what I can do?_

_Yes _

He sat in silent awe for a moment, feeling a strange urge to giggle maniacally. Then something occurred to him.

_Why did your parents leave you here then?_

Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away.

* * *

><p>The workers of the orphanage noticed a change in Tom Riddle after that day. He bullied less, and was less prone to violent moody outbursts. They shrugged it off; he could be whatever as long as he was no longer a devils child. What was curious was how close, how possessive he was over the girl. One day, a worker had burst into the shared room, apologizing profusely about how she had to room with a boy and how they now had a space open in a girls room where she could room instead. Tom fixed the worker with a chilling ice blue glower. "The gaze of death" the worker dubbed it. "my heart nearly jumped out of my chest".<p>

Indeed, the two were inseparable. For once, he had someone to confide to, someone who understood him, someone who he could sit next to at dinner. In class, he started passing notes, a foreign concept to him. He demanded stories, anecdotes of a mysterious world that was his. He ate up information, and she fed him eagerly, proud of the world she had grown up in. After classes and chores, they would sit in the grassy meadows, levitating small stones and sticks, hurling them at each other weakly. It would evolve into a fantastic handless, wandless magical mudfight that baffled the other kids and left the orphanage workers speechless with anger. Sometimes, he would call out to the grass snakes and garter snakes, and she would prop her head on her hands, fascinated at this form of magic she couldn't imitate. The most they could do intentionally was levitating and banishing, but sometimes, they would try to trigger their accidental magic. Once, he startled her and she spontaneously disappeared… and reappeared seconds later. Invisibility. But they could rarely reproduce the effects of accidents.

He would reluctantly remember these days as the happiest days of his life. Innocent childish days, even for him, without any worries or ambitions. Without any knowledge of war. With a companion, the other kids had begun seeing him as "normal" and now associated with him less hesitantly. Still, it came as a shock when at one point she introduced him to someone as her friend.

_We're friends?_

_You're my best friend Tom_

They were best friends.

* * *

><p>Hogwarts letters arrived with little fanfare. A representative had come from the school and they bluntly told him they were fine and knew everything and could go alone and thank you. Diagon Ally was a wonderland of excitement and the ran through the streets laughing and shouting and staring, absorbing everything. For Tom, it was proof that he was special, that the past few years of magic had not been a lie. It was proof that confirmed his wildest dreams and beliefs. For her, it was home.<p>

* * *

><p>She was always ridiculously stupid. The stupidest person he had ever met. And she had to show off her stubborn and impulsive and careless and stupid side and get sorted into Gryffindor. He glowered, lonely at the Slytherin table while murmurs of muggleborn, mudblood and filth made its happy way around. Once again, he found himself friendless, scorned, and utterly alone.<p>

He was the lowest of the low, and he bitterly began working himself up to the top. Studying, knowledge and magic came naturally to him; he was easily the best in his year, and even the year above him. Grudging respect was bestowed, words changed. There were still those who ambushed him late at night, beat him up and left him, bloody, for the house elves and caretaker. There were still those that narrow-mindedly assaulted him, physically and verbally. There would always be people like that. So he began fighting fire with fire, beginning a rapid descent into a new branch of magic. Those who belittled him found themselves beyond pain the mornings, perhaps in grotesque conditions as well. Those who respected him greatly, he rewarded with small favors. The teachers, of course, adored him, except one. One infuriatingly happy man with overgrown facial hair.

The serpents around the building always hissed at him reverently, and he hissed back in private. One book he read had stated that parseltoungue, though rare, was looked down upon and he had enough of scorn for a lifetime. But a prefect over heard one of his late night talks, and the tales spread like a wildfires, assumptions that he was the heir of Slytherin. He found that parseltoungue was not bad, on the contrary, he was admired and even worshipped for this trait. Bullying came to a stop instantly, and he was constantly asked for a demonstration. He rose up the hierarchy, and became the king, the heir of Slytherin. He was respected, loved, and feared, and he embraced that, ruling with a very Machiavellian fist. It was then when he had his first taste of power. He loved it.

Power. It was amazing. Tantalizing. Addicting. The assured feeling of being in control. The knowledge that everyone is at your will. The ability to change everything with a single word. The pleasure of seeing his enemies scream. It was that and so much more. He would stay up until the wee hours of dawn, sometime getting no sleep at all, reading, learning, practicing the darkest most gruesome curses. Brewing the cruelest potions. All to feel that rush, that glee of power flooding his brain, rippling through his veins.

But the best part was that she was by his side once more. House rivalries were not as rampant back then, but still frowned upon. It would have hurt his reputation if he had been seen hanging around a Gryffindor, especially since he was a "mudblood". He tried explaining that to her and she had frowned, hurt and torn, and their relationship was strained and miserable. But now, he was the heir of Slytherin. He could do whatever he wanted and those who objected would not be objecting for long. So he called her back to him, and she furiously screamed at him and fussed for ignoring her for almost 2 whole years at school before looping an arm around his neck and grinning that grin. He introduced her as his friend, best friend, and don't you dare touch her.

* * *

><p>He sometimes wondered why he did this. She was a girl of his past, a childhood friend, and he had many smarter and more powerful companions. Why should he care about this girl, when he was now so much better? He was no longer the friendless ignorant boy he once was. He concluded that it was because he owed her a debt that must be paid.<p>

* * *

><p>Every summer, late at night in the orphanage, they would stay up talking about everything and anything. About their past, about school, about things they would do this summer. It was those nights in the orphanage he would become free, free from the responsibilities of being the "Slytherin Prince", from school and Dumbledores suspecting gaze, free from his blatant condescending companions, free from everything. He loved it for sure; he loved magic and the feeling of power and being at the top of the hierarchy, but it was so stressful sometimes. Those nights, it was clear he wanted her by him forever.<p>

_You'll stay with me forever right._

_Tom, we're best friends. We're orphans. Where could I go?_

_To be Continued..._

* * *

><p><strong>Yup Tom is a just human teenager with slightly more ambition than others. No insanity. Things start happening in part two where he becomes more desperate and bad.<strong>


End file.
